


Between The Threads

by lucycourageous



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Family Dinners, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucycourageous/pseuds/lucycourageous
Summary: Whizzer isn't good with relationships. Neither is anyone else. But apparently that isn't a good enough reason to cancel a family dinner.
Relationships: Jason & Whizzer Brown, Whizzer Brown & Trina, Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Between The Threads

The worst thing about Marvin, at least in Whizzer’s humble opinion, is that he’s never satisfied with making just himself miserable: he always has to drag everyone else into his bullshit too. 

Take his good Jewish wife for example. Even after divorcing her, he still can’t leave the poor woman be, keeps insisting on bringing them all together in some misguided attempt to weave the disparate threads of their lives into something cohesive. As if Whizzer isn’t cut from completely different cloth. As if this isn’t just another way of putting a needle into Trina. 

All of which is to say that Whizzer is currently, for some insane reason, sitting at a dining room table opposite his boyfriend’s ( _ugh, boyfriend_ ) ex-wife at 7pm on a Friday night as she sets out the meal she has no doubt spent all day preparing. 

The air in the tastefully-decorated dining room is smothering, heavy with spilled secrets and past fights and unhappiness, and he would literally rather be anywhere other than here. 

Trina is brittle, her smile altogether too tight, and though she’s been nothing but polite since he and Marvin walked through the door, he can’t possibly miss the way her hands shake as she begins to serve. He doesn’t know for sure what emotion it is that she’s fiercely repressing, but he wouldn’t be surprised if rage was involved. 

Whizzer almost wishes she would let it all out, that she would shriek and spit slurs at him and refuse to let him over the threshold. At least then he’d finally have an excuse to get out of these dinners. Let Marvin keep coming here by himself if he was so desperate to play happy families – Whizzer would find ways to entertain himself while he was gone. 

Perhaps he’d wander out to a bar and get off with someone in a bathroom and come back later smelling of smoke and some other guy’s cologne, pretending that he’d gone for himself and not just to see Marvin’s eyes go dark with anger and hurt. He’s done it enough times now to know exactly how to play it: act innocent, say nothing about the hickeys on his neck while doing nothing to hide them, let the tension build until finally Marvin snaps and drags him off to bed, because to him, fucking Whizzer into their mattress is a flag planted in the ground, part reprimand, part plea, and all desperation. 

Whizzer likes Marvin desperate.

“Would you like anything else, Whizzer?” 

Whizzer snaps out of his reverie and locks eyes with Trina. Her tone is attentive, the voice of the perfect housewife, but she wields her serving spoon like a weapon, in a white-knuckled grip. 

At least it’s not a knife. 

“No, thank you. This all looks delicious.” 

“You’re sweet to say so.” 

The silence that follows is so awkward that it makes Whizzer’s stomach clench. Marvin rests a hand on his knee under the table, and though he’d like to think it’s a gesture of comfort, when Whizzer turns to look at him, his smile is proud, not reassuring. Marvin thinks this is all going great. 

Whizzer shifts his leg away from Marvin’s hand, and the smile drops off his face instantly. 

“Hey, Whizzer.” 

_Uh oh._

He looks over at Jason, anticipating trouble. He likes the kid more than he ever expected to, admires the ease with which he runs rings around his parents. But he does have a worrying habit of asking difficult questions, zeroing in on whichever topic the adults in the room are scrupulously trying to avoid – and in this particular group, there are plenty of things better left unsaid. 

“Yeah, Jason?” 

“Wanna watch the baseball after dinner?” 

_Thank God._

“Sure thing, kid.” 

“Have you done your homework, Jason?” Trina asks, her voice stabbing sharply across the table. Whizzer has to make an effort not to wince. 

The boy shoots a withering look at his mother, “Duh, I did it on the bus.” 

Stymied, she sits back, apparently unable to think of any other reason to prevent her son from hanging out with his father’s gay lover. 

Marvin clears his throat and changes the subject, displaying something resembling tact for once, “So how did that math test go yesterday, Jason?” 

Jason’s academic achievements are a safe topic, and the rest of the meal passes uneventfully – which means it takes a fucking eternity. When everyone’s plates are finally cleared and Trina gathers herself to stand, Whizzer is so relieved that he shoots to his feet, holding out his hand to stop her and almost knocking over his water glass in his haste, “Please, let me.” 

Three faces stare back at him – in their shared surprise they look more like a family than they ever have. 

Trina recovers first, and the look she gives him is a complex thing, part hesitant gratitude, part resentful suspicion. He highly doubts that anyone else has ever offered to help her clear away, not in this household, but she’s not pleased that he’s the first. 

“How thoughtful. You can just put them on the side by the sink.” 

Half of him wants to stay hidden in the kitchen. He used to wash dishes with his mom when he was younger, and he still finds it comforting. But Trina would no doubt see that as an imposition, another way for him to usurp her identity. Were all relationships so fraught, so goddamn tiring? Or was it just this family? 

He looks up as Trina enters, her hands full of placemats, the table cloth draped over one arm. Her dark eyes catch his, her soft brown hair shining in the light.

She is lovely, in a quiet, unobtrusive way; he doesn’t have to be straight to see that. He remembers the first time he saw a picture of her – the family portrait in the hallway. That was when he and Marvin were still sneaking around like a couple of horny teenagers dodging a strict parent, waiting and waiting for one of those rare afternoons when Trina would take Jason to visit his aunt or out shopping for new school clothes so they could have the apartment to themselves. 

His eyes caught on the photo as they stumbled through the door together, Marvin already reaching for Whizzer’s belt buckle, his hands tugging at his shirt. But Whizzer was transfixed, couldn’t tear his eyes away from those three fixed, perfect smiles, Marvin’s wife and child seated while he stood, his hand resting on the woman’s shoulder, wedding ring prominently displayed. He’d turned to Marvin, half amused, half horrified, _“You didn’t tell me she was pretty.”_

Whizzer nods at her. It seems insincere to smile now that they’re alone. They’ve hardly ever been alone. 

“Thank you for dinner.” 

She snorts, shaking her head wearily as she heads to the sink to start on the dishes, leaning down to fish out a pair of rubber gloves, “Please, don’t…you don’t have to do this. I know you don’t want to be here.” 

He looks away. It’s true, but now that she’s said it out loud, he feels guilty. “Still.” 

“Marvin would throw a fit if you said you didn’t want to come, I suppose.” 

_Oh God,_ he thinks, _are we really doing this?_

It’s bad enough that he’s here in this house at all, he doesn’t want to bond with Trina over their shared dislike of Marvin’s many foibles. Though admittedly, he’s sure they could both find plenty to say on the subject.

He remains pointedly silent, but Trina doesn’t seem to notice. Her expression has turned thoughtful, almost musing, “You know, I used to think I was so weak for letting him get his way all the time, letting him move me around like one of his chess pieces. But he does it to you too, doesn’t he.” 

Insulted, Whizzer frowns, opens his mouth to make one of those snappy retorts that always make Marvin jerk as if he’s been stung – then closes it again. Trina certainly isn’t being friendly but this doesn’t feel like an attack. It feels, bizarrely, the same way it feels when he meets eyes with someone on the subway and knows at once that they’re queer; that they’ve seen him and recognised him as one of their own, the same way he’s seen and recognised them. 

What she’s saying is, ‘ _I understand._ ’ 

_Damn it._

“Have you ever cheated on him?” 

He blinks, blindsided by the sudden change of topic, not to mention her uncanny prescience, considering that he was thinking about doing exactly that earlier. She’s watching him intently, unsmiling but composed. 

Whizzer decides that there’s no point in lying – she’ll know. 

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

Trina smiles then, and there’s something vicious and wistful in the curve of her mouth that makes him pity her in a way that he never has before, “Good. I never had the guts to, but…I wanted him to know how it feels.” 

“Hey Whiz-”

Marvin pokes his head into the room, wariness flashing instantly across his face as he sees the two of them standing there, obviously mid-conversation. Together they turn to look at him, and Whizzer wonders if Trina’s thinking what he’s thinking, whether they’re both looking at Marvin with the same eyes and asking why they let themselves get tangled up over this man. 

“Yes, Marvin?” 

“The game is starting soon,” Marvin says, his eyes darting between his ex-wife and his lover, “are you coming?” He sounds subdued all of a sudden, almost anxious, and something tugs in Whizzer’s chest, an angry, dichotomous ache that makes him simultaneously want to embrace him and shove him away. 

Trina says nothing, but Whizzer can feel her watching him. He gets the sense that she understands his feelings perfectly - perhaps she even feels sorry for him in this moment.

_“Letting him move me around like one of his chess pieces…”_

It’s another way of saying what Whizzer already knows but can't stand to admit: that Marvin has him hooked in a way he never has been before. He can't call it love, because he's pretty sure love shouldn't be tinged with resentment and antagonism. But whatever it is, it's powerful.

For a moment, he tries to imagine himself just walking out of here, tearing himself loose and leaving them to sew up this messy half-shredded tapestry of a family themselves. 

It’s not as satisfying an image as he hoped it would be. 

“Yeah,” he says, and the words taste like defeat in his mouth, “I’m coming.” In an attempt to soothe at least some of his wounded pride, to remind all of them of who and what he is, he tacks on, “I told Jason I would.” 

_This isn’t for you, I won’t come when you call, I’m only yours as far as I want to be._

Maybe if he repeats it enough, he can even make himself believe it.

Marvin’s jaw twitches, and Whizzer knows the subtle jab has found its target. It’s not much of a victory, but he’ll take what he can get – he always has. 

“I’ll be here,” Trina says. Her voice is flat now, totally uninflected, “Let me know if you need anything.” 

She turns away, and Whizzer has no choice but to follow Marvin, wondering how much longer they can all keep this up before they unravel. Not long, he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> This feels a bit rambly but I've been sitting on it for a while and just wanted to put it out there - I love looking at these characters and how they all fit together.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
